Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 154 One-on-One Martial Arts Tournament - Trial

Euron stepped into the Greyjoy family’s temporary residence in Harrenhal, and the familiar, rugged atmosphere enveloped him.

King Corren Greyjoy, the father, sat in the main seat, with his brother Balon, younger brother Victarion, and nephew Rodrik all present, making it seem like a small family gathering.

Upon seeing Euron enter, Baron grinned first, his eyes gleaming with undisguised mockery: "Oh, our great hero is back. And where's your Dornish jewel, Miss Ashara? Didn't you bring her along?"

Euron was used to his brother's teasing and calmly replied, "She is naturally with her brother, Ser Arthur Dayne."

Upon hearing this, Baron's smile widened, and he leaned closer, lowering his voice to a knowing chuckle between men: "You've spent so much time together all the way from Dorn to here—and haven't you found a chance—to—do 'that'?"

He deliberately dragged out his words, made faces, and used his hands to make rude and vulgar gestures, the meaning of which couldn't be clearer.

This blatant teasing finally made even the usually calm Euron roll his eyes in annoyance, too lazy to pay any more attention to his unreliable older brother.

"Shut up, Balon!" Lord Corren Greyjoy's deep, authoritative voice echoed through the stone chamber. His sharp gaze, like that of a hawk, was fixed on Euron. He had already learned of Euron's decision from their correspondence and now wanted to confirm it with him face to face: "You've made up your mind? You're going to participate in that damned duel?" His tone carried an unquestionable paternal authority as he raised an eyebrow. "Do you know that your brother Balon also wanted to go, but I flatly refused. Tell me, why do you think I would allow you to take this risk?"

Although he knew that his son had traveled to Dragonstone and undergone three months of rigorous training under Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, and that Arthur himself had admitted to him that Euron's swordsmanship was superb and his movements agile, making him one of the favorites to win the championship.

However, these things do not seem to have completely dispelled the Iron Islands ruler's concerns and his father's tough stance.

Euron straightened his back, his face radiating undisguised confidence, and declared loudly, "Strength!" His voice echoed clearly within the stone house. "I've fought Arthur Dayne and sparred with Prince Rhaegar. I know my own worth. In a one-on-one duel, I will never lose!"

King Koren was not swayed by this confidence. He tapped his thick fingers on the armrest of his chair, his gaze deep: "The sparring on the training ground is not the same as the real fighting on the battlefield, where you risk your life."

Baron, standing nearby, immediately chimed in with a sneer: "Exactly! Who knows if they're just being lenient with you because they're allies or something else?"

Euron suddenly turned to Baron, a confident smile playing on his lips, and his words struck at his brother's sore spot: "Let him."

When I crush you, I don't need anyone to let me win, right? Do I need to help you remember who I beat the last time, my dear brother?

"Bullshit!" Baron jumped up from his chair like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, his face flushed red, and roared, "That was just a few casual moves, I wasn't even serious!"

"Oh?" Euron raised an eyebrow, took a step forward, and his eyes flashed with provocation. "Since you're not convinced, then let's go now. We'll find a place and have a real fight. Let's settle things with facts, how about that?"

The atmosphere inside the room instantly became tense and filled with the smell of gunpowder.

King Coron pondered for a moment, his sharp eyes scanning between Euron's confident face and Baron's defiant rage. Finally, he snorted heavily and slammed his hand on the table: "Fine! Then let's fight!" His booming voice made the decision, carrying an unquestionable authority. "Listen, I have one request: everyone give it your all, no one is allowed to hold back!"

His gaze turned unusually serious as he swept over each of his sons and generals present: "He's injured now, at most he'll be bedridden for a few days. But if, because of our current soft-heartedness, he misjudges his true strength and actually enters the one-on-one arena, the price of losing could very well be death! Anyone who lets him off now is harming him! Consider this a rehearsal for the one-on-one duel, Euron's trial in one-on-one combat!"

The decision has been made by Coron.

In the ensuing contest, Euron did not disappoint his father, proving that he was not just boasting.

Baron Greyjoy launched the first attack with a roar, his strikes powerful and ruthless, clearly driven by genuine rage and his full strength. However, his fierce onslaught was repeatedly thwarted by Euron's swordsmanship, which combined unpredictable movement, precise anticipation, and sharp counterattacks.

When Euron faced Baron's initial, ferocious charge, he didn't choose to meet the powerful, earth-shattering axe blow head-on. Just as the axe blade was about to strike, his body seemed to lose weight, sliding to the side in a bizarre, almost ground-hugging arc [Paper Drawing]. Simultaneously, his footwork shifted swiftly [Shave], instantly cutting into the gaping wound under Baron's ribs exposed by his full-force swing. His unsharpened training sword transformed into a cold, sharp point [Finger Pistol], precisely stopping at Baron's vital armpit. The entire process was lightning fast; Baron's brute force completely missed its mark.

Once, twice, three times—Baron was defeated one after another, each time more humiliating than the last. His heavy breathing and the incredulous expression on his face were the most direct proof.

Baron, leaning on his battle axe, sweat mixed with dust streaming down his forehead, his chest heaving violently. Looking at Euron's calm, expressionless face, a burning rage, a mixture of humiliation, shock, and utter resentment, seared within him.

"How is this possible?! His strength is clearly inferior to mine! Those bizarre dodges—those terrifyingly precise thrusts—this is not the swordsmanship and technique of a water dancer at all! I can cleave any enemy's head in the sea, yet I couldn't even touch the hem of his clothes! I've lost—three times in a row!"

Then, Balf and Dagmore, known for their bravery, stepped forward to challenge Euron. Their axes and swords carried the wildness and murderous intent unique to the Iron Islands, but they still could not gain the slightest advantage against Euron and were defeated one after another.

Finally, Euron even took the initiative to ask Balf and Dagmo to come on together.

Despite being attacked from both sides, Euron remained completely at ease, his figure moving nimbly through the intertwined shadows and glints of light. When facing Balf and Dagmer, he combined skill and power to the extreme. First, using Paper Drawing and the exquisite footwork of the Regretful One, he moved like a ghost through the gaps in their encirclement, nearly causing their weapons to clash.

In the instant before Dagmo could recover, he closed in on his side and delivered a heavy elbow strike infused with the power of [Fishman Karate], slamming it into Dagmo's chest and abdomen, instantly disintegrating his fighting ability. He then turned and parried Balf's horizontal slash, using the momentum to trip him and easily bring him to the ground.

When the two men charged at him, he didn't even move much. At the critical moment, he shouted "Iron Block!" and withstood Balf's side kick without flinching, causing Balf to stagger backward. Then, he twisted his waist and unleashed a sharp low "Storm Kick," accurately striking both men in the lower body and knocking them to the ground simultaneously.

In the end, he remained the victor, standing firmly in the arena.

The battlefield was silent, save for the heavy breathing of the defeated.

Balf, a man who prided himself on his strength, stared at his trembling, numb wrist, his face filled with disbelief. He thought to himself, "My full-force strike was so easily deflected! It's like throwing all my strength into cotton, and then—and then being struck in a vital spot by some unknown force! Damn it, what did this guy learn on Dragonstone?!"

King Koren stared intently at his son, who stood calmly in the center of the arena, sword sheathed, his gaze deep, and remained silent for a long time.

"Euron," King Coron called his son's name, his tone unusually solemn, "your sword has surpassed the understanding of the Iron Islands."

King Koren paused, as if making a crucial decision, before finally letting out a heavy sigh: "Alright. You've proven your strength and your ability to survive. I grant your permission. The one-on-one duel, go."

"But remember," his voice suddenly turned stern, cold as iron, "the Greyjoys can die in battle, but they cannot bring shame upon themselves. Either come back with the championship, or don't come back at all."

Euron nodded with a smile, full of confidence.